Liberation
by Arcadio
Summary: The aftermath of liberation can be more devestating than the war waged...


'Blood is nothing if not seen. Just a fable, but stories of things we have not seen only makes us more curious... until the point comes where we bleed... maybe to death.'

He sat on his bed, now covered an extravagant red, staring blankly into the void known as Libria. His breath, hard. His heart, pumping like an earthquake within his chest, with only thoughts of another day. A day of fighting, not just against the system he was raised in, but the fight to justify the reasons behind his liberation, and the liberation he caused for others. Some of which would kill him without remorse for the rush of emotions, the turmoil he put them through. John Preston was his name and on his shoulders was the head of a wanted man.

His eyes shifted past the door and into the hallway, where the footsteps of his children could be heard, once upon a time. It had been a year since he last saw them, his own children, his flesh and blood... his world. But out of his love, he had sent them away, to a place they could be safe, where this endless war he was fighting wouldn't influence them, or hurt them in any way. Of course, they had protested. Mostly because they wanted to see him as he was, not how he'd been. Masked by a drug he willingly took each day, loving his children without emotion. That was then. This is now.

"John Preston."

He didn't turn to see the woman standing at the threshold. Truth is, he had been waiting for this since his eyes had been fully open that day. With a deep exhale, he stood, his eyes still transfixed on the sky. "Isobel Rivera."

She stood firm, her hands gripped on her weapon, aiming it at his head. Isobel wasn't a cold woman, given the chance she could smile like non other... but that chance would never come for her, not if she had anything to do with it anyway. Her eyes narrowed on John, as they always did when she saw his shadow, because he was so fast, that's all she ever saw. "That's Cleric Rivera to you, Preston."

"And I suppose this is your idea of a showdown?" and with this, he turned, a sparkle in his eye, or could that be a single tear reflecting the light from the sun? His eyes were worn, from fighting, from constantly defending his actions. John Preston was once respected. Now he was loathed, hated, hunted. A rebel crusading against the things he used to enforce. Trouble was, these days it felt like he was the only one left standing against the New Order in Libria. And that feeling of loneliness was the price of his freedom, which he accepted gracefully. "I will not die by your hand, Cleric."

"No," she agreed, with a slight smirk crossing her face. "You will suffer a death far worse than I could ever inflict."

"Does that seem... peaceful to you, Isobel? Does that not conflict with the ideals of this system?"

"The only confliction is you, Preston. You and your followers, who seem very far and few lately. Tell me, John, how much longer do you think you can go on fighting us?"

"As long as it takes," his eyes peer down to the gun tucked into his belt, ready for action, ready to survive. "I could show you the world, Isobel. I could show you things you couldn't dream of. The touch, a feeling... I remember our first meeting, I read your file. You're married."

Isobel refused to engage in the conversation but still found herself unwilling to stop him.

"Married to a man you don't love, that you can't love while you're still on that drug that denies you this life of... beauty and passion," with a swift movement, he pulled out his gun like a hunter to its prey, and brought it to her face, knocking her weapon away with a single shove of the palm.

Isobel was backed against the wall, unable to escape. But if there was a chance, not even she could be sure she would want to.

His free hand came up to the naked skin on her face, just an inch away from touching. "How can you justify the cause you are fighting for if you don't understand the thing you're trying to stop? Let me show you... let me help you..."

His hand, so strong but yet so delicate, hovered by her face. His eyes fixed on hers, as if he were losing his soul, and she were losing her mind. They stood mesmorized... until his hand came down for the touch, and in that instant, they connected on more levels than they could ever do in any other way known to man.

And Isobel felt herself slip.


End file.
